


a minori ad maius

by words_unravel



Category: Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Genre: M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-10
Updated: 2009-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>a minori ad maius</i>: from the lesser to the greater</p>
            </blockquote>





	a minori ad maius

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stealstheashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealstheashes/gifts).



> [**Prompt:** written for the LiveJournal _drawn_to_ challenge 2009, recipient: _stealstheashes_]  
> [**A/N:** i know that i probably could have written another 5,000 words on this fic, but hopefully it stands okay as is.]  
> [**Beta:** _angelgazing_ &amp; _provetheworst_ ]   
> [**Warning:** should i warn for cheesiest ending ever? be aware.]

**_five &amp; six_**  
Spencer hears the giggle before he rounds the corner. He frowns because he's never made it to the center of the maze in the North Garden before and someone's already beaten him there. Rounding the bush, he's about to demand to know how they'd found their way so quickly, but what's waiting on the other side startles him speechless.

A second later he can't help himself, blurting out, "Hey, you're not supposed to do that!"

The tiny green and gold dragon crumbles, pieces of dirt and dust falling to the ground and the little boy's smile disappears. His eyes are wide with fear when he looks at Spencer which makes Spencer feel bad. He hadn't meant to cause any fear.

The boy's obviously a servant, Lower bred. His clothes are worn, simple in style, and plain excepting a bright flash of red peeking out of the back pocket.

"Please." Spencer steps closer, and the other boy cowers, tucking his chin in close to his chest, whispering, "Please don't tell."

Spencer's torn. Only High Born are supposed to have magic, but this obviously isn't true. His five year-old mind is having some trouble reconciling what he's learned all his life with what he's seeing with his own eyes. "Do it again." The boy looks confused and Spencer stomps his foot. "Do it again! Make a dragon!"

The confusion doesn't dissipate, but the child does what Spencer demands, scooping up a handful of dirt. A few moments later, another small dragon flaps hesitantly over his hands. Spencer grins, dropping down to his knees. He wants to touch it, but Momma says not to touch other's magic, not without permission. "Can you change the color?" he says instead, eyes shining. A short nod and with a breath, the tiny dragon is a brilliant, shimmering blue. Spencer wants to be jealous, his own magic hasn't manifested, but it's too fascinating and all he can do is smile. The boy watches Spencer, bottom lip tucked under his teeth.

"You're going to be my friend." Spencer commands suddenly, softening it a second later with a hesitant, "Okay?" The boy nods, a small smile tilting at the corners of his mouth.

The response is soft in return. "Okay."

A small wing brushes Spencer's cheek and he giggles. It tickles.

*

Ryan hits the ground hard.

He can feel the flesh tear beneath his breeches, only he doesn't care. The only thing Ryan cares about is that he's finally, _finally_ found Spencer. There's a hand, rough on his shoulder, that's dragging him upwards when Spencer shouts his name. When he looks up, Spencer's there, in front of him, and Ryan watches as Spencer kicks whoever's holding him. He barely notices as the hand falls away, frantically grabbing back as Spencer's arms wrap around him. There's a constant stream of _SpencerSpencerSpencer_ running through his head, and it's not until Spencer asks "What's wrong, Ry?" that Ryan realizes he's been saying it out loud as well.

"Spencer James Smith!"

There's reprimand in the familiar blue eyes of the tall, beautiful woman standing over them, but concern as well. Another voice enquires from behind her, and Ryan finally takes a good look around. A few feet away there's a table set with a pale blue china set and a dozen small cakes. Set for tea. A twinge of fear slices through him as afternoon tea in the courtyard has definitely been interrupted. Spencer arms tighten around him and Ryan doesn't care. He doesn't care about tea because his father wouldn't wake up, no matter how hard he shook him, how loud he yelled.

His father wouldn't wake up and he _needed_ Spencer.

The lady kneels, placing a hand on Spencer's shoulder. At this distance he can see the resemblance even more, knows for sure who she is even before the light touch to his arm and her soft, "What is it child, that made you come seek my son?" He can feel his bottom lip tremble, the tears that well up again.

He hides his face in the curve of Spencer's neck, embarrassed. For some reason he can't stop crying now, but between stifled sobs he manages to tell her. When he's finished, the hand on his arm tightens for a moment. He can feel her move, even thought he keeps his face tucked against Spencer. There's a soft brush of fingertips against his hair as she rises, and he notes her commands to check out the situation. Her guardsmen try to pull him away from Spencer, to show them exactly where his father's at, but Spencer kicks again when Ryan pushes his face into Spencer's throat even more. Lady Smith orders them to go without Ryan.

"It's okay," Spencer whispers and Ryan finally looks up. His eyes widen at the tears that run down Spencer's cheeks. Spencer's crying, crying for _him_. Seconds later, rain begins to fall and there's a mad dash as everyone rushes to get under cover. Ryan can feel the drops on his face, how it mixes with his tears. How it mixes with Spencer's tears until Ryan can't tell the difference at all.

*

It rains hard for three days, but the skies are overcast and thunderous for nearly two weeks. However, the day Ryan moves into the castle, a direct edict from Lady Smith, the sky blossoms a clear, brilliant blue.

 

**_ten &amp; eleven_**  
"Ryan." No response. "...Ryan." Still nothing. Spencer taps his toe against the floor, waiting.

"_Ryan._"

"_What_, Spencer?" Amber eyes are narrowed when he finally looks up and the obvious irritation makes Spencer grin. Ryan rolls his eyes at that, turning a page. The book in front of him is old, Spencer notes, and probably heavier than Ryan. That wouldn't be hard, since he looks like a strong wind could blow him over.

"Come on, Twig, the new court musicians are here." Spencer leaves out the _finally_, but it's definitely there in his tone. Ryan looks torn; they've been waiting _weeks_ for this, but - and Spencer knows what's coming - Ryan whines, "You know this is the only time I can study, Spence. And stop calling me that, I hate it."

The tutor Spencer's parents had hired always goes for a walk around this time every day. Which, funny enough, coincides perfectly with the time that Greta's always practicing piano in the east wing music room. Also, Spencer's pretty sure Master Suarez knows exactly what they're doing every day, as he 's always half an hour late and makes enough noise that they're able to sneak out.

Spencer rolls his eyes back. "I _know_ you sneak down here in the middle of the night, loser. But if it makes you feel better, I'll just borrow it later. Come on."

"You're Water, how're you going to explain wanting a book on Earth Magic?" Spencer can see Ryan wavering, so he walks over and slams it shut. Ryan barely gets his fingers out of the way, his eyes narrowing. Tapping the cover, Spencer smiles wider. "I'm ten. It's entirely possible for me to develop another magic, so _of course_ I'm curious, Twig."

Spencer hasn't shown any other Attributes, but Ryan's Air abilities hadn't manifested until last year, so it could still be possible. Plus, he really _is_ curious about what Ryan can do. He's always curious about Ryan's magic, though. Always curious about _Ryan_.

Reaching out, he grabs Ryan's wrist. "Now come _on_."

*

Ryan knows Spencer's jealous. Even if the hugely unsubtle signs from across the room weren't indicative enough, Spencer's rude. Overtly rude, cutting Pete off or pretending to not even hear him speaking at all. So yes, Spencer's jealous and Ryan knows it, but he can't seem to get enough.

It's just that Pete deals in words, in the turn of a phrase. He makes words twist, wrap around themselves until even the elders aren't exactly sure if something was too explicit for court. Pete charms with his words; they trip and tumble around Ryan's head until he's dizzy and it's the most amazing thing _ever_. It's a entirely new world that's opened up and he spends hours discussing anything and everything with Pete. And Pete doesn't seem to mind, answering all Ryan's questions, giving him list after list of books to read. There's all these new words, new ideas available to him. There's all this new _life_ that Pete's given him and Ryan can understand how Spencer's just a little bit jealous.

And then one morning Pete nearly doesn't wake up.

*

He's listens to Patrick rant, watching as a fist pounds on the door. Confusion and rage swirl around his stomach; he feels as though he might throw up. Patrick's hand hits the door again and Ryan flinches.

Pete's fine, he knows. He nearly snorts at the thought - obviously Pete's _not_ fine - but the doctor had assured them that he'd been able to get most of the sleeping draught out of Pete's stomach. Afterwards, as Pete kicked everyone out of the room, Ryan had caught Pete's gaze. But Pete had looked away and the door closed, shutting them all out. And now Patrick's just outside, cursing Pete to hell and back while Ryan watches in silence down the hall.

He knows Spencer's there even before the arms wrap around him, holding him tight. "I don't understand," Ryan whispers. He feels like the words scrape his throat when they emerge.

Spencer's breath is warm against his neck when he answers, "I guess, sometimes, when you've got that much going on inside, it's hard to hold onto it? Keep it from taking you over? I dunno." Ryan just shakes his head, doesn't understand.

They watch as Patrick slides down the wall, head in his hands, his words spent. A second later, a piece of parchment slides out from under the door. Patrick picks it up, reads it. A harsh laugh, nearly a sob, echoes down the hallway.

"Sorry I was such an ass."

Spencer's apology is soft, barely audible. Ryan watches Patrick's head fall back against the wall, watches his eyes slide shut and the tear that slides down a pale check. Ryan reaches up then, his arms over Spencer's and squeezes.

 

**_fifteen &amp; sixteen_**  
"Rya--_oh_. "

He jerks away from Tarrah just in time to meet Spencer's eyes, wide in shock. Before he can say anything, Spencer mumbles an apology, turns and flees back out the door. With a sigh, Ryan steps back. Tarrah smirks, but doesn't say a word when he follows after Spencer.

*

"So. That happened."

They're standing in the hallway outside the music room, but Spencer's refusing to actually _look_ at Ryan, so he pokes a finger into the softness around Spencer's waist. Glaring, Spencer punches him in the arm.

"Dammit, Spence, that _hurt_!" Ryan does some glaring of his own, rubbing a hand over the sore spot. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Piss off." The words are harsh, but there's a visible blush across Spencer's still-round cheeks that has Ryan raising his eyebrows.

"Wait, are you embarrassed? Why-"

"Shut it, Ryan." Spencer turns his head away, and Ryan's left staring at the line of his neck. The color has spread, and Ryan vaguely notes that Spencer has really nice skin. _Luminescent._ Pale, despite the fact that just last week they'd both burned from a too-long horse ride. And that sounds kind of nice, a horse ride. Calliope's probably chomping at the bit. Ryan's about to suggest another ride when Spencer mumbles, "I've just, well. I've never. You know-"

Oh, right.

"_Oh_." Ryan snickered. "Well, of course you haven't. You're only fifteen." The instant he says it, Ryan wishes he could take it back. It's a ridiculous thing to say, totally unhelpful, especially since-

"You're sixteen, Ryan. Like a year's such a big difference."

And sometimes Ryan gets really jealous of the way that Spencer's able to reflect such utter disdain with a few simple words. "It's one year," Spencer says again, "to which I repeat: piss off."

Before Ryan can apologize, Spencer spins on a heel and stalks away.

*

They're arguing about it again, two days later. Or rather, Ryan's trying to apologize and get Spencer to really talk to him, when the sound of a trumpet interrupts them. Visitors have arrived and the boys stop long enough to race down the stairs. Ryan's legs are longer, but Spencer has coordination, so he wins. Ryan's trying to catch his breath when he gets to the front foyer.

Spencer smirks at him, even as Lord Smith says, "The Urie family will be joining us this season for their eldest daughter's entrance to society. They're a lovely family, so act accordingly." They snicker at the 'lovely', more Lady Smith's words than Spencer's father's. He winks at them before stating, "Their son is your age and I fully expect you boys to get along."

A cacophony of noise breaks the speech and a small, dark-haired boy tumbles into the room a half-second later, followed more sedately by an older man and woman. The daughter steps in behind them and they all hear the exasperation in her voice.

"_Brendon_."

*

"Just. Brendon talks big, you know?"

Spencer kind of does know. Over the last few months, Brendon's shown them a voice and skill of a pianist years beyond his age, but even Spencer can see the hesitation, the uncertainty behind it all.

"I think he could really use you, Spence, especially during the Season. You're-You're _solid_." Spencer snorts. "Oh, shut up. I just mean that you're really good at being there, okay?"

Spencer looks across the room, over to Ryan at those words, but he's staring determinedly down into the courtyard. Walking over, Spencer stands next to Ryan and looks down. They both watch as Brendon jumps around the yard, flailing his hand about. There's a giant burnt spot in the grass. Brendon looks up, as if sensing their presence, and his grin is wide as he waves up at them. Even from here, Spencer can see the tips, edged in black.

"Fine," he sighs. Ryan just nudges his shoulder. Spencer grumbles about bruises; Ryan's all angles and it _hurts_, but he doesn't move away.

*

The thing is, Brendon's really, really charming without Spencer's help. He laughs too loud, yes. He shakes everyone's hand too hard, but the older ones, the parents, _love_ him.

"Oh my god, Spencer, oh my god. Please, please say we're done. If I have to dance with Hannah Tookerson again, I will throw myself off the upstairs landing." Brendon drags Spencer around a row of chairs and they slip outside. As they door closes behind them, the noise fades away. They stumble around one of the white marble columns that line the courtyard, Brendon's laughter brightening the dark.

"Oh man," Brendon leans back against the marble, "I almost feel sorry for Kara. It's a nightmare in there."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Like you don't love dancing with all the pretty girls." He reaches out to straighten his friend's ascot when Brendon says quietly, "I'd like to dance with you, Spence." His fingers freeze.

They're a hair's breadth away from each other, Brendon's words echoing around in his head, and Spencer can't make himself stop staring at Brendon's mouth. It's so strange. Strange, strange, strange. Spencer flashes back to that day, remembers how Ryan's mouth had looked when he'd pulled away.

He's leaning in, Brendon's chin tilting up, when a voice calls out "Oh, wherefore art thou, Master Urie?"

Laughter rebounds through the darkness. "Come on, Bren, I know you're out here somewhere!"

"_Jon?_"

And just like that, Spencer's lost him. Brendon goes bounding around the corner and Spencer can hear him, hear his enthusiastic, "Jon? Jonathan Walker, doth mine eyes deceive me?" He rests his head on the marble pillar, the surface smooth and chilled against his heated skin.

"Spencer? Spencer, come on! Come on, come on, you _have_ to meet Jon!"

With a sigh, Spencer rolls off the column, instantly missing the coolness. He's never, ever telling Ryan about this.

Ever.

*

"Brendon? Our Brendon? Are you sure?"

Spencer expected laughter, expected merciless teasing after he'd told Ryan what had nearly occurred. But Ryan just frowns, looking particularly disgruntled. "Really?"

"Yes, Ryan, really." Spencer can feel the furious blush across his cheeks and shoves his face into the pillow on his bed. He feels like a girl.

"_Brendon?_"

Spencer yells in frustration and starts beating Ryan with the aforementioned pillow. It feels pretty good.

*

Ryan doesn't know why he does it.

He doesn't know why he corners Brendon in the music room late one night, when everyone that isn't an insomniac, or illicitly studying, has gone to bed. He kisses Brendon, and refuses to think about why he's imagining blue eyes instead of brown, imagining tilting his chin up to meet lips instead of down.

They never tell Spencer.

 

**_twenty &amp; twenty-one_**  
"Brendon, no. I swear, Urie, if you'd--"

"You're not supposed to speak to me like that, Ross. I could have you strung up in the courtyard by your underpants." It's an empty threat, they both know

"Good, do it. And from there I can shout a proclamation on your huge, _flaming_ crush on Walker."

Brendon sneers at him, but his cheeks are tinged with red. "Speaking of flaming-" He sends a tiny phoenix, barely the length of his hand, at Ryan's head. It snaps at the back of Ryan's head, the hairs singeing slightly. Ryan bats it away a couple of times before turning around in a huff, and with a wave of his hand, the small bird disintegrates. He sends a wisp of still burning ash towards Brendon. It lands on his coat, a small dark hole appearing in the lilac silk.

Brendon pouts, "Dammit, Ryan, Joseph _just_ repaired this! He's going to yell at me. Again."

"As well he should," Ryan mutters, "It's a blasphemy against style everywhere."

"It's a royal color-"

"Not in that shade."

"Oh shut it, like you can talk." Brendon indicates the plethora of cloth around Ryan's neck.

"Spencer says they look fine."

"That's because Spencer coddles you. Seriously, he lets you get away with _everything_. I don't know how the two of you have survived this long. Good thing I arrived when I did."

Ryan snorts. Five years ago, Brendon fell into their lives and refused to leave, and now Spencer's younger sisters adore their piano teacher. "Riiiiight. Who broke Greta's favorite vase again? Last week even?" He pretends to think about it, "Oh, I think that was-"

"Whatever. Shouldn't we be practicing? Don't you have a best friend to woo?" Brendon grins evilly at Ryan, wiggling his eyebrows in a lecherous manner.

"It's Spencer's birthday, wretch, you've got to get it perfect. And I have no idea what you're talking about." Ryan can feel the heat rising in own his cheeks now. "Now, stop messing around and **focus**."

Brendon smirks at him, and Ryan pretends he doesn't see it.

*

Two hundred of their nearest and dearest, Ryan thinks off-handedly, wishing the Smith's had waited until next year for such a large birthday party. Although he is extremely excited to see Spencer's face when they reveal his present. A murmur goes throught the crowd, and Ryan cranes his neck, trying to see what's happening. He looks around for Spencer and finds him kneeling in front of Haley. The drink in his hand nearly slips when Spencer's voice carries over the crowd.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Ryan's stomach turns at Haley's breathless _yes_ and he glances away. Brendon's eyes meet his across the room. Ryan glares; he doesn't need pity.

*

"I think I'm going to go away."

Spencer turns toward Ryan, "What?"

"I've been accepted at Craerville. I'll be leaving at the end of the week." Ryan refuses to look at Spencer, choosing instead the ledge above the fire. There's a picture of the two of them, taken by Jon at Spencer's birthday years ago. He swallows hard and looks away, at Spencer.

"What?" Spencer asks again. There's confusion on his face, a little fear. It makes Ryan's stomach ache. "Craerville? Ryan, that's-that's across the _ocean_. And now? What about my wedding? I _need_ you here."

"I'm-I." Ryan releases a breath, watches as it comes out a white, puffy cloud. Spencer's upset, the air in the room growing colder. Rubbing a hand over his arm, Ryan forces out, "I'm sorry, Spencer. But I have to leave."

"But why _now?_" he repeats. "I don't understand-"

"I can't-" Spencer hasn't moved, just stands there staring at him, lost, and Ryan can't stop himself from moving in, just a little. Spencer's still the taller one, although not by much. He's wider through the shoulders though, more solid. Ryan moves closer than he should, whispers, "I can't stay, Spence."

_I can't watch you love someone else._

They're inches apart and Spencer just stares at him, searching. Ryan barely breathes. He wonders if this is how Spencer felt that night with Brendon, so many years ago. Hopeful. Terrified. For a split second, he starts to lean in.

"Ryan-?"

He steps back, swallowing hard at the rawness in Spencer's voice. It's past time for youthful longing and wishes to be placed aside, so he says, "I'm sorry" one last time, voice quiet and firm.

Then he walks away before Spencer can stop him.

*

Dammit, he can't find Ryan _anywhere_.

His mother looks up from the book spread across her lap, watching as he paces across the sitting room floor. "He's gone, Spencer. Truthfully, I don't know how he lasted this long, but he left early this morning. Before breakfast." She studies the shock on her son's face. "You're suprised? Could you watch the person you love marry someone else?"

"What?" There's a serious feeling of deja vu sweeping through Spencer, shock. "Ryan--_what?_"

"Honey," she says softly, "he's been in love with you for ages."

"But. But, he's never said-"

"Of course he hasn't. No matter how long he's been ours, no amount of silk clothing, endless books, of loving him unconditionally-" her voice breaks on the words and Spencer realizes he's not the only one hurting from Ryan leaving. "He holds a part of himself away from us, Spencer, away from you. I'm fairly sure he thinks he doesn't deserve it. And he gets hurt less that way."

Spencer falls to his knees beside the couch and his mother runs a hand over his hair, cups his cheek softly. He feels seven again, and he leans into the touch. "Mother?

"You should bring him home, Spencer. Where he belongs." She rises from the chaise, fingers slipping away. Spencer resists the urge to latch onto the lines of her dress. He's not seven anymore, but he's no less confused. No less in pain.

"Mother, what-what about Haley? The wedding?"

She halts, the swish of silk loud in the quiet room. "A thousand miles of ocean, Spencer? Even your magic can't cross that."

He thinks about last night, the warmth of Ryan's body so close to his. The way the beat of his heart had pulsed at the base of his throat. He thinks of about the lightning flash of terror that went through him when Ryan said he was leaving.

Spencer thinks about all of that, then turns and runs.

*

Ryan's standing there with his trunk at his feet, staring at the dazzle of the light across the water. His chest is tight and he breathes shallow, afraid that anything bigger will come out on a sob. He's a grown man, dammit, it shouldn't be the same. His father dying and leaving Spencer shouldn't feel the same, but Ryan's heart is having a hard time making that distinction.

"Wait! Wait, hold the ship! Please-!"

Ryan's head snaps up at the sound of Spencer's voice.

At the end of the dock, there's an uproar as the water goes choppy, slapping hard against the dock. The ship continues to pull away and Spencer's shoulders slump as it sails out of the bay. A few minutes later, he finally turns around and Ryan can breathe.

He hadn't gotten on the boat, couldn't make himself leave for real. They stare at each other for a long time, not moving.

Then Ryan smiles, a tiny one, the edges of his mouth barely turning up. He holds out his hand, fingers outstretched and palm up. A tiny blue dragon sits there, more brilliant than the water the dock stretches out over. It flutters through the air, landing on Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer's eyes don't leave his. "Ryan-"

The dragon nips at his ear and he huffs a laugh then, ducking his chin a little. The noise of the dock is loud, but for Ryan it's muffled. There's only Spencer.

Spencer, who came for him. His heart feels like it's about to float out of his chest and it's ridiculous. The dragon nuzzles into the hair behind Spencer's ear and Ryan _lets_ himself feel a little ridiculous. There'll be a million repercussions. So many things affected. Ryan knows this, he does.It doesn't stop him from saying quietly, "Let's go home, Spence."

Spencer's smile is wide, blinding, and the water in the bay shimmers like glass.

[_the end_]

**Author's Note:**

> [initially posted [here](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/8688.html) on 12/10/09.]  
> [posted in main journal [here](http://prettykitty-aya.livejournal.com/313411.html) on 12/21/09]  
> [x-posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/drawn_to/14800.html) on 12/11/09 and [here](http://community.livejournal.com/bandslashmania/1525300.html) on 12/22/09]


End file.
